


One Night's Compromise

by Sylvia_Bond



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvia_Bond/pseuds/Sylvia_Bond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock has determined that the only way he can save his and Kirk’s friendship is to ask for a transfer. This he does, and of course, Kirk objects, and decides that he and Spock should go out to dinner to discuss what it’s going to take to keep Spock on the Enterprise. What it eventually takes is a surprise to them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night's Compromise

Kirk had requested he be notified when the Enterprise docked at Starbase 11 for shore leave, and Spock did so automatically. Moments after he gently thumbed the communications channel closed, the Captain came striding through the doors of the turbo lift. His golden shirt was somewhat wrinkled, pants only halfway tucked into his boots. Even his hair was rumpled, though he was making a valiant attempt at smoothing it to command regulations.

Spock lifted his head, nothing instinctively that his Captain had only just awakened after what was supposed to have been a mere half-hour's worth of shuteye. Spock had decided to let the human sleep for three full hours, surely the shortest regular sleep cycle required. Thus, bursting with energy amidst the bustle of pre-shore leave activity, Kirk zapped a smile directly at him. 

"You let me sleep, Spock," Kirk said, knowing he neither needed nor desired the customary greeting. "We may have to have that chess game a little later."

The Vulcan stepped back to allow the Captain to sit and stood, slender and still next to the command chair. Kirk curved his hands around the ends of the armrests as he sat and gave the psuedo-leather a small squeeze.

"We may have to cancel it altogether," said Spock quietly. 

A yeoman handed Kirk an electronic clipboard to sign, which he did, handing it back to the young woman with a smile. Spock could almost see the sparks from Kirk's eyes ignite in the human female's. He stifled a sigh and resettled his shoulders into a more relaxed position. His dark eyes rested on an engineering monitor along the far bulkhead.

The Captain didn't miss either the non-sigh or the imperceptible shrug. He turned to face his friend, smiling with the merest curve of his mouth.

"Without being insulting, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, "I'd say you were tense."

"I am neither insulted nor tense. Both are highly emotional states, and as such are foreign to me," said the Vulcan, slowly, carefully. His lips tightened and he folded his hands behind his back. He would miss these exchanges. 

"Bullshit," came the soft reply. "Spock, I--"

A very excited lieutenant, shore leave roster in hand, interrupted what was to follow. Kirk gave Spock his best good-hearted-exasperated look and quickly signed it, smiling and nodding absently at the lieutenant's obviously heartfelt thanks.

"Well, Spock, the first ones are away…you and I can go anytime," the human said, turning towards him again. "And you _will_ be taking shore leave this time, won't you?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. Kirk's blonde forelock slipped inevitably down. How like Jim Kirk to put an order in the form of a friendly request. It made him wonder if he would be as fortunate in the future. 

Kirk paused to look at him more carefully, his eyes narrowing; Spock watch as the instincts of a friend took over those that prevailed in a commanding officer.

"What's up, Spock?"

"Up, Captain?"

"Spock," said Kirk, warningly.

"Captain," Spock began, "I must request--"

The intercom beeped and Kirk answered it with an apologetic glance at his First Officer as his fist came down on the switch. "Kirk here."

"Scott here, Captain. Thank you for no' putting me on the leave roster, I canna tell y--"

"You're not on the first leave, Mr. Scott…" here he paused, leaning forward. Though it was illogical, Spock had often observed that Kirk spoke over the intercom as if the person were actually present, "…because you are on the second rotation. And you will, I repeat, _will_ be going on shore leave. I don't care if you only go to bookstores and clean them out of antique technical journals. You will be off this ship. Do I make myself clear?"  
There was no reply. Only the slight hum of an open wire.

"Mr. Scott?"

"I was only trying to figure what I'd done wrong to deserve this," came the almost inaudible reply.

"Enjoy your shore leave, Scotty. Kirk out." He punched the line closed with the heel of his hand.

"Why doesn't anyone want to take shore leave?" he asked the silent, waiting Vulcan. "And I suppose you don't want to either."

Spock gave an indecipherable shake of his head. "Sir, this is not regarding shore leave, I--"

"What is it, Spock?" Kirk leaned forward to rest one elbow on the arm of his chair. 

Spock fortified himself with a deep breath. "I should like to request a transfer."

The human's eyes darkened. "Why?" he asked shortly.

Spock considered the gap of understanding between him and the Captain. It was, at that moment, a huge rift that ran for miles in either direction and though it allowed Spock a perfect view of the sudden dangerous glitter in Kirk's eyes, it was, nonetheless, too wide a gap to jump.

He'd tried to tell himself that what he was feeling for Kirk was a natural consequence arising from the respect he had for his Captain. But his inexperienced could not understand nor control these feelings, and logic could not explain the odd, desperate need to release the whirl inside him.

After the furlough at Starbase 11, the Enterprise would go out into deep space once more, and he would again be in Kirk's constant company. Spock knew that he could not love his Captain as he did and keep silent for another three, or five, or twenty years. He had to leave the Enterprise now, on this shore leave, or risk the ruin of his best and truest friendship. 

The Captain was waiting for him to speak, and he realized that his own mouth was hanging open just the slightest bit. Inside his head, great thoughts ran headlong with the pounding of his heart. Yet he could not, would not, subject the Captain to what was surely his own problem to deal with.

And it was not an option for Spock, at this point, to ignore what he felt, to calmly step to one side and stand by and behave as if did not exist. To profess his feelings to Kirk, however, would also be an illogical choice, since he would probably embarrass himself and make the human so uncomfortable that he would end up having to transfer anyway. Not to mention the end of what was to Spock, an amazingly solid friendship. At any rate, he could not tell Jim the truth.

And still Kirk waited, his mouth pulling into a puzzled frown.

"I can give you a full report, should you desire it, Captain, I merely request your permission to start the proceedings." And he shut his mouth against anything that might follow.

Kirk was stunned into silence. Immediately he knew that he could not lose his First Officer, his best friend, over what was probably a slight personnel problem. He'd get the other officer to leave before he'd allow one Vulcan toe a single inch off the transporter pad.

"But Spock, why?" he asked, hearing the plea in his voice. He knew Spock was more in tune to human emotions that he'd like to admit, even if he preferred to suppress his own. "If there's anything I can do…"

"There is," Spock replied. "You can sign the papers when they cross your desk."

Kirk felt the beginnings of a headache. Oh, he needed this shore leave, needed it badly. But if Spock was wanting to have, of all things, a transfer…he pulled his hands away from his eyes where he'd been rubbing them. He looked up into the eyes of his First Officer, the calm, cool, brown that reflected light instead of absorbing it. At the lean, impassive face, where the mouth was set into a thin, tight line. Kirk noted the almost invisible twitch over Spock's right eye. Something was obviously wrong, and it was up to Kirk alone to help Spock through it. Bones, in any attempt at aid, would badger the Vulcan into an early grave. This was Kirk's job and he'd better act fast. Otherwise the Vulcan would transfer himself to the other side of the galaxy and make himself useful on someone else's bridge. Kirk almost shuddered at the thought.

"Spock," he said to the silent space between them, "why don't you--"

Kirk was interrupted again by the intercom.

"Kyle here," said Kyle.

"Yes. Kirk here."

"First rotation for shore leave is away, Captain."

"Good work, Kyle," said Kirk. _Bad timing, mister,_ he though in the private recesses of his own mind. _There goes your merit bonus_. "You on the second rotation, Kyle?"

"Yes, sir!" came the happy reply. Second rotation was the longest with the loosest security. Plus there was ample recover time while third shift took their leave before the Enterprise shot back into deep space.

"Fine, fine. Kirk out."

He looked at Spock again.

"It's going to get busier before it gets calmer, Spock. Why don't you and I take shore leave together and hammer this out."

"Hardly a precedented measure, Captain," replied the Vulcan.

"Hang the safety precautions. We're smack in the center of Federation territory." At Spock's even stare, he amended this. "Okay, so we're not in the center. But we're a long way from the neutral zone--"

"Only a mere 3, 529.03 parsecs, Captain," said Spock, "from the boundary of the neutral zone leading to Romulan territory."

Kirk allowed himself a sigh.

"We need to talk. Why don't you get us a table at some restaurant. We can at least have dinner and discuss this without--" he stopped to pointedly sign a fuel consumption report, "--without interruptions. Deal?"  
The Vulcan felt resigned to the situation. He would think of something to tell the Captain.

"Yes, Captain. I will make the reservations.

***

Kirk left the bridge and went to his cabin, hoping his expression was merely one of exhaustion instead of frustration. What he needed was shore leave, or a dangerous mission--anything to keep his mind from warping over the same problem again and again. 

Once in his cabin, he stripped and stepped into the shower. He stood there, naked for a second, surround by white plastitile, staring at the control panel. Sonic or H2O? 

Damnit, what was the matter with Spock? Why the hell would he, why would anyone for that matter, want to leave the Enterprise?

He showered quickly using the sonics, wishing he felt he deserved a real water shower. Once out, he dressed and combed his hair back. As he stared across the bed, a thought came.

He buzzed Spock at his station. Not finding him there, he buzzed him at his quarters.

"Spock here."

"Spock, is it that Pon Farr stuff again?" Here he paused to mentally cure himself for referring to such a sacred ceremony as mere "stuff" and went on. "If it is, you don't need a transfer, T'Pau arranged--"

"Captain," replied Spock and Kirk thought he could feel the desert air in Spock's low, careful tones, "my request for a transfer has very little to do with the ancient rite of Pon Farr."

Of course not, agreed Kirk in his mind, realizing this was true. But then why was Spock being so reticent?

"Maybe you just need some shore leave; I don't know when you last took vacation, you must have at least a year racked up…" he trailed off as he realized that Spock was not arguing.

Not a good sign.

"Well, you'd better have a damn good excuse or Pon Farr or no Pon Farr, there will be no transfer." Instantly the words were said Kirk regretted them. "Damn, I'm sorry Spock, but I just can't imagine you not on the Enterprise, not here when I need you…and well, a transfer is a very extreme solution to what must be a very simple problem. I'm sure we can come up with something over dinner."

There was a long pause, and Kirk could have sworn that he heard Spock's chest rise with an indrawn breath. Normally, Spock said what was on his mind, however unpleasant, and called it logic. His present reticence was puzzling.

"Perhaps," he heard Spock say.

The continuing pause was weighted with a force only Spock seemed to be able to put behind it. 

_Don't leave me,_ his mind whispered, _don't leave me._

"Fine. See you in the transporter room."

"Certainly," said Spock. "Spock out."

He lay back on the bed, forearm over his eyes. Unbidden, the scene came to his mind, a Brooklyn street in the early '30s, Edith's body under the tires of a truck, and Bones voice rasping in his ear, "MY GOD JIM DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?"

He'd held tighter to Bones, tighter than he'd thought was possible without breaking something. His body had felt like one big tremor. And behind him, Spock's voice floating unseen and gentle.

"He knows, Doctor. He knows."

Spock's understanding was the only thing that helped him get through that time. He was the only person who seemed to really comprehend what Kirk had gone through. Often, in the briefing room or the break rooms, surely when no one else was looking, he would catch Spock's eyes and there would be a certain expression on the Vulcan's face. And at these times he thought he could hear that calm voice in his head: _You did what you had to do, Jim. Your sacrifice was great._

In his moments of self-doubt, despair (moments rather like this one, he thought suddenly) Spock was always there, there, at his side, behind him, at his station, somewhere--but nearby. He remembered at one point, in some black pit of his own despondency, falling into his bunk, feeling almost feverish, thinking: Thank God for Spock, thank the stars, thank whatever fates that had brought him this man from a planet that couldn't even be seen in the night sky from an Iowa cornfield.

Once, Bones had been haranguing him about the fact that he'd let Edith die--insisting that if Kirk loved her as much as he claimed to, he wouldn't have.

Kirk's mouth had opened, his mind full of protests and explanations, but nothing had come out. He felt Spock glance at him, felt someone foolish to be letting a sudden rush of anguish show.

Then heard Spock's smooth reply.

"I too was there, Doctor, and I also let Miss Keeler be killed."

"No," Spock conceded. "However, neither did I save her myself."

Instantly the verbal swords were crossed. Midway through the reception of Bone's tirade, Spock looked at him again, and this time Kirk returned the gaze. And in those eyes was a sort of cool twinkle, a small movement that reminded him of a single star in the night. He realized that Spock had directed Bones' anger onto himself.

_For a non-emotional entity,_ thought Kirk _, he sure knows me pretty well._

He'd sworn at that moment that he would pay Spock back somehow, that he would support the Vulcan as he himself had been. When Spock had gone through Pon Farr, and he had defied Star Fleet orders to take the Vulcan home, he'd felt an almost desperate sense of rightness, for no career in the universe was worth the death of a friend like that. They had been friends before, of course, playing chess, eating together, returning from dangerous and sometimes bizarre missions together. But then had come Bones' question: _What are you going to do?_

Something had galvanized within him, something previously only a hazy notion had solidified.

"He's my friend, he's saved my life a dozen times over. Isn't that worth a career?"

He'd sent the command course for Vulcan to the bridge and never looked back; nothing else mattered. Even when T'Pau's influence had made his sacrifice unnecessary, he hadn't regretted it. Only thought, surely he knows how important he is to me? Other pictures from his past floated up from the depths of his memory. But the clearest ones, the fragments that shone the brightest and cut through the fog of forgetfulness were the images of the blue-shirted, dark-haired figure at his side, at his back…there, always there.

_How can I possibly let that go?_

He pulled his arm away from his eyes.

_Alright then,_ he almost said aloud, _after that I'm not going to let him go because of some small issue._

A small voice asked him, then, _what would you be willing to do to keep him on the Enterprise this time?_

"Just about anything."

***

As he dressed for dinner, Kirk began to realize that he was unreasonably nervous. He'd never really gone "out" with Spock before. The last time he'd gone to dinner had been with Bones and the clothes he'd worn would probably not match up to the swank place he was sure Spock had picked out. His dress uniform, on the other hand, was far too formal.

He turned away from his closet. He didn't know what to think.

_I feel like I'm on a first date._

In the end he put on his olive green wraparound uniform shirt that he didn't wear very often and pushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. At any rate, Spock would probably neither notice nor care what Kirk was wearing.

***

Spock sat in the chair next to his desk, his hands loosely clasped on the clean, bare surface. He ignored the meditation field, the scent of which he could smell; one hour in front of it had not aided him. It would be illogical to continue. So he had prepared for his evening with Jim Kirk, had bathed and donned the most somber off-duty clothes he owned, had already run through several algorithmic exercises in his head and there were still ten minutes to the assigned time of their meeting in the transporter room.

He went over in his mind what he was doing and the reasons for it. And reminded himself that he would not attempt to anticipate any of Kirk's argument nor rebuttals. His Captain tended to take such a "scream and dive" approach to arguments, sometimes to the most surprising and positive ends, that to plan for every contingency would take much more time than he had. So he would answer each of Kirk's statements with a logical argument of his won. It was not safe to leave details for the last moment, but there was no way to predict what the human would say or do, no way to anticipate his reaction if he ever heard the truth.

At precisely 2.3 minutes before the appointed time, Spock left his quarters. It would take him that long to get to the transporter room.

***

What Kirk held in his hands was a real menu, with textured, creamy paper, and a silk tassel. It was at that point that he figured out what the subdued furnishing of the establishment could not tell him: only five star restaurants had real paper menus, sans prices. 

He glanced up at Spock over the top of his menu for confirmation that this was not some elaborate ruse to get him to a fancy restaurant. Spock had chosen the place and seemed to know exactly what he was getting into; he was studying the pages in front of him with the same care as he would the information from his science station. The light from the wall was reflecting up from the paper, causing his black outfit to disappear into the darkness of the room, and casting his face into pale marble. Even his hair seemed darker.

Where those real candles?  
Kirk tried to keep the puzzlement from his face as he looked at his First Officer. What was Spock staring at so intently? Surely not the missing prices? Both of them had socked enough credits away such that their combined resources could purchase the selfsame establishment at least three times over. Well, whatever was going on, a direct attack would probably not produce the answers he was seeking.

Their food arrived shortly after they ordered, and Kirk bit into his steak with the voraciousness of a truly hungry man. It probably wasn't Terran cow, not this far out in space, but instead a remarkable facsimile thereof. Halfway through his third overly huge bite, he looked up at Spock.

He watched the Vulcan mouth as it tightened imperceptibly, the throat as it moved over a swallow. It was some Vulcan dish, a local variation on Plumeek Soup, and though Spock had always exhibited a marked preference for the dish, he was eating very slowly indeed. It was almost fascinating, if one might use that expression, to watch the slow rise and fall of that spoon, held diffidently in Spock's graceful hand. He couldn't imagine anyone enjoying his food less. The notion that this was elaborate effort on Spock's part to introduce him to cultured dining began to fade from his mind. He took a small sip of his brandy.

"Since you're not enjoying your meal, care to tell me what's on your mind?"

Spock looked up and the halfway raised spoon returned to rest in the bowl. Had he been another man, Kirk would have thought he'd startled his First Officer. But there was no sense in dancing around the point, was there? Spock wanted a transfer and Kirk wasn't about to let him have one.

There was no reply for a moment as Spock stared levelly at him, the cool brown eyes lighting on him before flicking away.

"Why the transfer," Kirk clarified. Better to get it out straightaway.

He watched as the Vulcan tensed his muscles, pulling himself into a tight upright line. Kirk could almost hear the level voice agreeing with him that there was no point in avoiding the issue. He had a wild image of Spock doing an efficient dance around a bush, but brushed that aside with another sip of brandy. Surely, this was serious!

"I should like to request a transfer," said Spock.

"I know that," Kirk replied, realizing right away that this would be as hard as pulling selaht teeth. "Why?" he asked, forcing the words from between his teeth.

Spock looked straight at him, his most Vulcan demeanor in place, eyebrows motionless.

"I can no longer function in the capacity that I have in the past."

Now what the hell did that mean? Kirk put down his brandy. He waited, his head tilted. He found himself looking down at his drink, somehow drawn to the receding blueness of the liquid in his glass. He traced his fingers along the edge of the base. 

_I'm listening,_ his body said.

"My ability to operate as the Science Officer and as your First Officer is impaired by my position on the Enterprise.

Which made absolutely no sense at all. Kirk felt the ridges of his brain begin to overlap.

"Does that mean you don't want to be my First Officer?"

"My own personal inclinations have very little involvement in my decision. I simply request a transfer."

Kirk felt the spurt of anger inside of him and tried to keep it from his face. He leaned back in his chair, allowing his weight to rest on one elbow. His fingers came up to circle around his mouth. Green lights flickered in his eyes.

"Is there some problem?  
Spock's reply came as if learned by rote. "I have come to the realization, over a recent period of time, that our present interaction debilitates the objectivity of any decisions, command or otherwise, that we might make as officers."

Which meant what? "Are you saying that our friendship is getting in the way of our jobs, Mr. Spock?"

Kirk sat up to rest his elbows on the table. He ran one hand over his mouth and stopped himself from reaching for his brandy. Getting drunk would not help.

His mind worked with several ways to present his argument in a fashion acceptable to a mind that worked foremost on logical terms. It wasn't that Spock couldn't understand an emotional argument, just that a rational one had more chance of being listened to.

Spock gave up all pretense of eating at that point. He leaned back in his chair, blinking slightly. He seemed to consider his options as he focused his gaze on the wall over Kirk's shoulder, lips thoughtfully pressed together. The candlelight was bouncing off his coal-dark hair, making it shimmer like obsidian.

The moment stretched out between them, and although it was not an uncompanionable one, Kirk could sense the underlying tension. It reminded him of the court martial he'd endured after the incident with Ben Finney. Bones had questioned Spock's loyalty then, but Kirk had not. He did not do so now, but the strain between them was enlarging like a rampant ion storm.

"What exactly are you running from, Spock? What has you spooked?" asked Kirk. He rested his chin in his hands and waited quietly for a reply.

Spock rose in his chair, grasping at the reprieve. "I have not moved from this chair, and as for hauntings, I do not believe…"

Kirk dipped his head warningly, his forelock falling down, his eyes never leaving Spock's.

"I--" started Spock. Then he stopped, closed his eyes and breathed. He opened them. "I am somewhat at a loss as to how to explain my dilemma."

"Perhaps if you presented me with the facts."

"Captain, it is these selfsame facts which inhibit my giving you a full explanation."

Kirk made himself smile. "Spock, just admit it, you're bored with the Enterprise, and I'm staring to beat you at chess. And rather than admit this, you emotionally think up some harebrained explanation to get you off the ship. Sorry, mister, but it just won't fly."

Spock looked up calmly with, seemingly, no intention of responding in any other manner.

Frustrated, Kirk spat out, using all of his authority, "I want facts, mister. I'm going to loose the best First Officer in the fleet, I want to know why. No more of this Orion goat shit from you. I don't care if this bruises your Vulcan dignity. You want a transfer and I want to know why. RIGHT NOW." He emphasized his point by slamming his fist against the table.

Spock's eyes met Kirk's.

"Just give me the facts, Spock," he ground out.

Spock, angry, was scary and unpredictable, normally something to be avoided. But when his ire was up, Spock was a fine, willful thing, like a high-tempered stallion, head upright, a flare to the nostrils, and a spark of the closest thing to passion ignited his eyes. Kirk had, at last, goaded Spock into speaking.

"As you wish, Captain." The Vulcan tightened his lips firmly together and began to speak. "Our relationship is closer than a Captain's and a First Officer's ought to be. Over 89.6 percent of the time we refer to each other as friend rather than by our military status."

"And your figures are, of course, accurate."

"Correct. And in the natural development of a relationship and I use the human definition of this term for my context, we have come to the point where one another's company is preferred, not only to solitude, but also to any other companionship.

"To continue, this closeness, at present, is capable of hampering objective and analytical decisions regarding one another, and, as such, could interfere with the safety of the Enterprise and her crew."

Kirk remained silent.

"Lastly, one another's well being is considered the optimum objective. Our relationship has arrived at a certain point where logically it must be acknowledged and the next step dealt with or the matter must be terminated."

Kirk realized with a pang that Spock must have read every Terran relationship study he could lay his hands on. And that each one, when correlated, told him that a relationship contained _these_ aspects, followed _those_ constraints, and should be verified in _this_ way. But what kind of acknowledgement did the Vulcan have in mind? 

The only thing he could imagine that Spock meant was sex. Did he mean that their relationship had come to such a point (according to this as yet unpublished Spockian text) where the next logical step was that where the two partners made love to one another? He couldn't imagine that this was true, but if it was, did that then mean that Spock was so appalled that he'd rather leave the Enterprise than submit to the hands of a man who was known, at least in this part of the galaxy, as a very good lover? While he allowed himself a small bit of pique at this, he imagined it would be a good idea to confirm his suspicions before he went to far. With Spock it was always a good idea to get one's bearings firmly blocked out before charting even slightly emotional seas.

"Spock," he said quietly, "could you clarify for me, if you would, your last point? The part about acknowledgement, I mean." He set his face into carefully attentive, non-judgmental lines.

Spock was almost shaking his head, but Kirk could see that he was building himself up towards an answer. But then he fell away from it as the logic of the situation evaporated. He resorted to language to cover up his inability to sort out his feelings.

"Certain things in a relationship happen at a certain time," said Spock slowly. "Statistics show that…"

Kirk felt a warmth grow in him at Spock's attempt to put into order and perspective all the feelings that he would never admit to. But as Spock began to list statistics, Kirk could not help but interrupt.

"Spock, a relationship is not a list of things to do!"

Spock's reply was rapid. "But a relationship must have order and balance, it--" 

"Order, hell! It's not a collection of shouds and have-tos!"

"Yes, Captain, however, our relationship has come to the point where, were we other people, we would consummate our friendship."

The words were out before Spock could clamp his mouth over them. There was a long moment of silence.

"You mean I have to go to bed with you to get you to stay on the Enterprise?" Kirk finally burst out, no longer feeling in the dark.

"It is not merely that," Spock replied evenly, as if discussing something else altogether. "And it is not a question of going to bed, as you call it."

"Then what the hell is the problem?" Kirk shot out, frustrated at his inability to understand his First Officer implicitly as he had always done in the past. 

"Captain," said Spock, motioning towards the rest of the restaurant, "perhaps you should lower your voice."

He stared at Spock, stared hard, trying to find something new that he had never seen but that had, obviously, been there all along. There was not a feature of the Vulcan that he did hot know by heart, not a gesture that he did not instinctively know the meaning of, nor even a single spoken word that he could not read volumes from. Here was a man smarter than him, taller, stronger, in all way a being that physically and mentally surpassed him. Yet at the same time, this same superior man was willing, even preferred, to follow where Kirk led, take his command, be subordinate in position, and in every action that he took support the man many would claming to be his inferior.

And it occurred to Kirk that Spock did not remain his second in command on the Enterprise for any logical reason that existed, no matter what he might claim. If he said he did it for the sake of the Federation and his oath to that organization, the universe would believe him and Kirk would agree. If he said he did it out of loyalty, many on Vulcan would raise their eyebrows at what was surely as close to a real emotion that a Vulcan could get without betting scorched. And Kirk could see that too. However, Spock would never say that he was doing it for Kirk, for himself, for love, and even if he did, not one soul would believe it.

But he had, and Kirk did.

Spock's present actions could be explained by details and logic: here is our relationship, here is where it must go. Yet Spock preferred to leave rather than go forward.

"Don't you trust me?" asked Kirk. "Spock?"

"Why should I place my trust in something that is substantiated by empirical date to be unstable?"

Kirk suddenly felt cold all over. All of his past relationships, once a comfortable cushion, suddenly became a wall of iced bricks. And now, something precious, some as yet undefined connection with Spock was thrust aside and he now stood, alone, facing the truth of his own past.

"Empirical data?" he asked, managing only that and no more.

Spock steepled his hands and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair.

"At the present count, and these are rough estimates: 55% of your partners have been abandoned or left behind by you; 40% of them have died; 2.5% have left you; and the other 2% of your relationships have not worked out due to mental illness."

"Mental illness?"

"In your partner, of course, not yourself."

Kirk shook his head, moving his hands wide to grip the edges of the table. "That doesn't make it any better, I can't believe you…I mean, does this mean that you can never trust me?" 

"It would be unadvisable."

_Say something,_ he ordered himself. _Say something to make him stay._ He had to. Otherwise, every objection Spock had presented would be valid, and he would loose the truest companion he had ever known.

But the problem was that none of his relationships had ever worked out. Spock was right. Or was he?

"Did you count every single one of my relationships, Spock?" he asked, not letting himself smile.

"Yes, except for those of which I have no knowledge."

"What about us, Spock? Did you include us in your rough estimate?"

Spock's eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to be trying to retrain his eyebrows.

Kirk leaned forward, wanting to reach out with his hands, but not letting himself. 

"Have I ever let you down, Spock?" Have I ever abandoned you? Have I ever…let you die?"  
There was no reply.

"Those women were not you, and they were not real relationships…they were part of the situation I found myself in."

"All of them?"

He permitted himself one small, mental squirm. "Well, most of them," he replied. 

Spock continued his watchful gaze with its silent weight.

More. He had to find something more.

"I know it's a risk, that I'm a risk, but every relationship is. But it's just like playing dice--"

"Dice, Captain?"

Spock did not seem to understand, but at least he was giving Kirk a chance. One chance. One long shot.

"Dice gives you the exact same chance or winning every time. And each new roll is like putting people together--you have the same chance of a great relationship each time. The odds are always even."

The somber contemplation went on. He knew Spock understood the mathematics of probability, it was his lifeblood. The situation, fragile and teetering on the edge of dissolution required something further from him, some genuine giving that would allow Spock to trust him, even if only for one night.

He took a deep breath. Kept his eyes on his friend by force of will. 

"Spock. You've trusted me with your career, with your life even. I've trusted you with mine. I can't promise you the future, but for one night, one night, could I give to you what I've given to so many others? Would it help if we did what comes next on this list of yours? Would it help you logically deal with whether or not you can do this?"

The dark head lifted somewhat. "This, Captain?"

"Staying on the Enterprise," he said. _With me,_ he added firmly. 

There was a pause. "I believe that it would prove an adequate incentive."

Which meant _yes_ , and Kirk struggled for a second to remind himself why he was going to do this. "But what about Pon Farr, I thought you could only--"

Spock stopped him with a level look. "Pon Farr is the time of mating that cannot be denied. I am capable any time I choose."

"Oh," said Kirk.

He realized that he was staring hard at the table, and made himself look up to find Spock looking distractedly at his nearly full plate.

"Can I…order you a dessert?" he asked, voice low in his throat.

Spock looked up. Stared straight at Kirk and shook his head no. And in his eyes was the flicker of desire.

They returned to the ship side by side, their bodies not touching, their eyes not meeting. And it seemed by unspoken agreement that they found themselves inside of Kirk's cabin, the automatic door swooshing closed behind them.

"Can I get you a drink, Spock?" asked Kirk, turning towards the servitor. As he did so, Spock's hands grabbed him and whirled him around almost roughly. As the Vulcan gripped his upper arms, there was a look of intense concentration on his face. As if he were about to plunge headfirst into an experiment he was not quite ready for, a sexual voyage without the benefit of emotion-releasing spores, without a space germ, without Pon Farr, without anything. Spock was attempting to go about it like the books said, or at least as he interpreted their instructions to be.

"No," said Kirk softly, bringing his hands up to rest on Spock's forearms. "Not like that." _I have to seduce him,_ he thought.

It occurred to him as he looked around his quarters that he did not have a couch. A couch would have been the perfect place for him to lead Spock now, somewhere halfway between the utilitarian hardness of the chairs and the deluxe Captain's quality bed that seemed to suddenly loom beyond the divider.

So what did one do with a reluctant but still insistent Vulcan?  
He led Spock to the chair and motioned for him to sit down. Quickly he lowered the lights, raised the heat, programmed soothing music, and could not resist punching up pink champagne. He handed a chilled glass to Spock.

"I assure you, Captain, but this is unnecessary. I am quite prepared to--"

"Jim," said Kirk. "Call me Jim. And it _is_ necessary. For this evening, we are no longer Captain and First Officer. In fact we're no longer even friends."

He smiled at Spock's raised brow. 

"Absolutely not," he insisted. "This is actually our first date, and we've discovered that we are…quite interested in each other." He tilted his head to one side.

"Do all humans spend this much energy to elaborate falsehoods prior to sexual intercourse?"  
Kirk allowed his shoulders to sag in defeat. He perched himself on the edge of the desk.

"Spock, you have to go with me on this one."

"And what, precisely, is our destination?"

Kirk sighed. "I mean, you have to participate. You said you were judging our relationship by human standards. Well, I'm human, and I'm telling you that this is the way it is done." He took a sip of his drink, noting the sharp edge that reconstituted champagne always had. Spock had no reply.

"Spock, do you trust me?"

"Implicitly," was the reply without a pause.

"Then take off your shirt."

"Take of my shirt, Ca--Jim? But that is not the--"

"Look," said Kirk, taking the untasted champagne from Spock's hands and putting in on the desk, "this next step you're so insistent on is not just a single act, it's…" He paused and caught Spock staring at him.

_He really doesn't know,_ he thought. _Some other outside influence had always taken him through this._ Perhaps asking him to take off his shirt at this point was too abrupt. He tried a different tactic.

"…it's a state of intimacy, an expression of the deepest love and affection two beings can feel towards each other."

"Yet," replied Spock dryly, "sometimes I have observed that it is just an act, a rough coupling that has very little to do with this affection you speak of." His entire being was quite still.

"Well," admitted Kirk, slowly. "Sometimes it is that." He found himself staring at his First Officer, not wanting that for Spock, for either of them.

"And now?" asked Spock.

A warmth was born and spread inside of Kirk. He was warmed by Spock's need for reassurance and the knowledge that Spock wanted him. All the logical reasonings in the world could not hide that fact. But to Kirk it meant something more. This being whose facade no one, not even McCoy, had been able to penetrate had, in effect, simply walked up to Kirk and basically demanded that Kirk make love to him. In his own convoluted way Spock had asked. _Please._ And though before Kirk hadn't been sure he could go through with this, and hoped that he would muddle through somehow and keep Spock on the Enterprise, now he began to respond to the Vulcan's apparent but innocent desire.

He sensed in a part of his mind that Spock didn't want to want him, as the emotion of desire flung itself headlong against all the Vulcan traditions his friend held so dear. It almost seemed as if Spock couldn't help himself, that the idea of having Kirk was so indelibly fixed that he would either have him or leave the Enterprise. For a brief second, the concept reminded him of characters in the old-style romances who would pine away for want of a loved one. And while this was hardly Spock's style, it seemed to Kirk to only enhance the multi-layered mystery that was his First Officer.

_He wants me, he wants me._ Spock had not actually said the words, the calm voice had never intoned, _I want you._ Kirk could not even imagine it. But his actions had clearly indicated his intent and Kirk believed that there was nothing as forceful as a Vulcan with a goal in mind. 

Still, to be desired, to be singled out by Spock was almost too much. He imagined that Spock had made up his mind in a very logical manner, could almost see him going through a selection process that had eliminated everyone else in the galaxy. Except him.

The thought was so precious to him that he almost froze. Then he realized that Spock had done the hard work, had opened up to him in a way that was almost impossible for him and had placed his trust so absolutely in Kirk's care that Kirk began to realize the enormity of his situation.

_I,_ he promised himself, _am going to make this the best night of his life. Even if he never makes love to anyone again, he will remember this._

At, at this moment, looking into Spock's face, into eyes that were a watershed of brown, he felt he could not live one more minute without knowing this man. He had looked at many women this way, season upon season, a roll call that stretched back as far as Earth. And now with his new sight, Kirk could now see the exotic contours in Spock's face, a beacon's reflection to slender shoulders, chiseled, pale features, and a surprisingly soft curve to his mouth. He allowed himself a small thrill at the soon to be discovered unknown country and wanted to savor the moment unconsciously on mental tiptoes upon the threshold.

_I am going to be making love to Spock,_ he thought. _And he in turn…_

The thought faded away. Spock in this situation was unknown territory; to imagine him there was nearly impossible. But still the picture formed in his head, that of his arms around Spock, one hand reaching to pull the Vulcan's head closer for a kiss. The fantasy froze there, the image of Spock's lips just about meeting his, the slanted eyes just closing. He could almost imagine the return embrace. Almost.

He focused on Spock again and fully realized that he had the opportunity to make this fantasy reality. A single shot of real fear raced up his spine and disappeared.

Spock had, through their career together, taught him to see through new eyes, to see things from alternate sides. Through the eyes of a lover, what would Spock be like? Kirk narrowed his eyes as he looked at his First Officer. He could almost feel the warm, midnight summer's breeze and opened them to see Spock sitting there.

Yes, it would be only for one night, and yes it was for some other higher purpose. But now it would be done for pleasure, for love.

He found there was nothing he could say to Spock in reply that wouldn't eventually remind him of some thing Kirk had said to any of his female lovers. He'd never made love to a man before, but being a man, knew that one would not fall for sweet words and promises. So he did to Spock an honest thing, a thing that did not speak of the tomorrows to come nor of the respect they would surely have for each other in the morning. He put down his champagne next to Spock's and put his hands gently on either side of Spock's face, realizing that the Vulcan's disinclination to be touched would have o be put aside for the moment. He felt the heat rising through his palms. And very, very slowly leaned closer until their lips were almost touching. He was millimeters away from the sudden spicy air of Vulcan, from the fires that burned beneath the surface, from the heat that radiated from that gaze.

"Close your eyes, Spock," he murmured.

The Vulcan complied and Kirk suppressed a bubble of laughter by placing his lips on Spock's. They felt at once tender and dry, the soft feel of a desert plant. Complying with Spock's wishes had suddenly brought Kirk very close to a secret desire he had not known he'd carried: to intimate himself to the Vulcan's physical form, to connect somehow with that angular, elegant being. He felt the breath from Spock's nostrils mingle with his won, inhaled and tasted the rare and exotic air from Spock's lungs. He drew his mouth away and sat up. Began to pull his hands away and found instead Spock's hot palm grasping, cupping around the back of his own hand, trapping it there against Spock's face.

"It begins thus?" came the Vulcan's quiet question. 

"This is one way," Kirk replied, not wanting to jar his hand. But it was so very hard to remain still when that same hand wanted to move, to explore what his eyes had memorized long ago. To put a hand on that chest and feel the warmth eking through the blue cloth.

_But I'm not going to rush Spock,_ Kirk promised himself. One night's compromise should not shortchange Spock out of what was surely his first true experience with intimacy.

Kirk slid off the desk and, finally, taking his hand away, with his eyes invited Spock to stand.

Spock did so, a reflex from years of obeying glances loaded with meaning. He had never known what it would feel like to be engulfed in Kirk's sensual gaze. He could feel it though he could not meet those green eyes and the smooth floor seemed to garner all of his attention. He had seen Kirk take the measure of his enemies this way, and imagined it felt much the same. But Kirk's gaze also contained a brightness that reached out with aureate arms and surrounded him. He'd heard it described as the Tomcat look, usually accompanied by a smile that to him more resembled a smirk rather than a pleasant curve of the mouth. It was an expression not unknown to him; he too could recognize it, had in fact done so early on in their career together. Had learned to prepare himself for the inevitable outcome: Kirk always got his woman.

And it was to his curious awareness--Spock refused to call it surprise--that this look was now being aimed at him. Seeing a weapon being fired and understanding the effects on a target were not the same as being in the line of fire oneself. Spock disowned his amazement the second it appeared only to have it replaced by a very human sense of panic. He began to understand how a wild creature might feel at being singled out.

He disliked touching and being touched, the fine tactile nerves in Vulcans, as well developed as their sense of logic, being extremely sensitive to any contact. Kirk was aware of his, he knew, aware of so many things about him, and yet so accepting of all of them. He struggled to maintain his composure and wondered briefly if fear was an accepted part of passion, if panic always accompanied desire. Kirk would surely know, were he to ask. He did not dare. He viewed language as a defensive moat rather than as a bridge, as he knew Kirk did.

Kirk blinked, realizing that Spock was staring at him intently, as if waiting for him. Waiting for him to be the teacher, the guide.

"There is only one rule, Spock."

"And that is?"

"Pleasure," replied Kirk, bringing his hand to curve around Spock's jaw. "The give and take of pleasure."

Spock tightened his lips apprehensively.

Kirk might have told a woman who was this nervous that he wouldn't hurt her, that he would be gentle. But it seemed somehow incongruous to be saying this to a man who had survived the Klingon Mind Sifter. Spock could stand a great deal more pain than even his resistance to the Sifter had shown. And besides, Spock probably wasn't worried about the physical part of their encounter.

He placed his arms around the slender shoulders in a firm hug, drawing the Vulcan close. He eased Spock over to the bed. As he did so, the other's height caused his arm to slip lower to Spock's shoulder blades, where it rested for a moment until sliding down to the straight waist. He pulled the Vulcan to him until the lengths of their hips were drawn in one hot line. The thump and push of Spock's heartbeat became very apparent.

"Spock," Kirk said, not lifting his eyes above the Vulcan's chin. "I want you to listen to me, trust me." He felt the weight of Spock's full attention. "The doors are closed, it's only you and me here. Just Jim and Spock."

Spock, as still as carved stone, was stiff and unyielding against him. Kirk brought this other hand up and spread his fingers wide against the expanse of Spock's side. Imagining that he might yet stroke granite to life.

"Spock?"

The Vulcan blinked slowly, pulling his eyes away from Kirk to a distance that was not quite as far as the wall.

"The process is somewhat more involved than I had anticipated."

Kirk chuckled gently as he brought his hands up from Spock's side to rest it on the cords of that stiff neck. "This is not just something you do with your body--your mind, your being needs to be here too."  
"But the books said--"

"Books!" snorted Kirk, "books, as much as I love them, can never explain the chemistry that happens between two people. Besides, if you're not going to be here when we make love, then I don't want to."

"But I am present, Jim," replied Spock, somewhat puzzled.

"Not here," Kirk said," brushing Spock's temple with his fingertips. He brought his hand down and, trailing his fingers across Spock's form, spread them wide across the hard chest where a human heart would reside. "And not here."

Spock lowered his face to look into Kirk's. He took his free hand, the one that wasn't pressed between their two thighs, and placed it over Kirk's, curving his fingers around to cup the base of the palm. Kirk tried not to let himself be surprised t how hot the other man's hand was. Spock pressed the hand down, moving it over ribs and muscle until Kirk really began to feel the thrum of heartbeat.

"This soul you allude to, this sense of self, had I one, would, with regards to your mythology of the body, reside somewhere in this region."

Kirk swallowed his smile. "You have a soul, Spock," he almost whispered, " and it is surely one of the finer things I have known in all my travels in the galaxy."

He pressed his hand harder against the ribs. Spock's hand still covered his there, and it seemed to allow itself one small squeeze.

Kirk's heart nearly stopped at the pressure exhibited with the utmost gentleness by a being that could kill with one small twitch.

The Captain knew where his bed was, would have known had he been blind. He sat down, tugging Spock down next to him. The Vulcan looked at him, waiting for cues, almost as if he were waiting to be told which way to jump and how high. Kirk kept his arm about Spock but took his other hand and slipped off both their boots in four deft motions. 

With another quick motion, he pulled off his jersey, shrugging his shoulders out of the olive material. After a moment's hesitation, as if remembering Kirk's first request of the evening, Spock pulled his black tunic over the top of his head. At the top of the pull he paused, and Kirk observed the taut stretch of Spock's neck, the tufts of underarm hair, and the crisp curls easing their way from beneath his undershirt. The arms lowered, and Spock titled his head back to bring them down to his lap. Kirk eased the shirt the rest of the way off from Spock's forearms and unceremoniously tossed the garment on the floor. Spock jerked as if stopping himself from reaching for it.

There is a trick to getting from a sitting position to a reclining one next to a partner in bed. Some people never get it right, always struggling to get over the awkwardness of such a move. To Kirk, it was like breathing, a fluid motion that moved him from _here_ to _there_ with only a killer smile in between and the slide of two bodies into a position where they lay facing each other on the pillow. 

Seeing Spock's face against the while cloth gave it a presence, a new texture. Spock's eyes were large and serious, intent on only one thing: gazing at him. Kirk's erection was as sudden as a change in the weather on Ceti Alpha Five.

The heat in the room was rising, the temperature Kirk had set it to finally becoming a reality. A swelter of perspiration was building along the back of his neck. It was at that point that he realized that all the words in the universe could not get Spock to relax. Words were the Vulcan's fortress, the weapons he used with engaged in human combat. There was no more Kirk could say.

He pulled off his own pants and threw them on the floor. Then he reached for the waistband of Spock's trousers. The Vulcan stiffened slightly and Kirk realized that the clothes were also a shell, a protection as much as his Vulcan facade. Kirk didn't give Spock the smile, the one he normally used at this point, the one reserved to charm and beguile, the curve of lips that contained what lovers and enemies alike swore what was real electricity. That particular gesture was reserved for lowering defenses, for drawing in the unwary. With Spock, there was no need, no desire really, to create such a trap. 

He tugged off Spock's pants and undershirt with the practice born of many encounters. He didn't fling them on the floor, merely allowed them to fall away from the body already radiating enough heat to raise the room temperature by another full degree.

Wrapping his arms around Spock was like gathering hot steel, holding him close was to feel the press of flesh-bound strength. Muscles moved under his hands as he played them across the pale green skin. And the sensation of curly hair against his own bare chest made him tip his head back and sigh. Press closer to the beckoning of Spock's hips. It became a dance, one that he knew well and that his partner did not.

And though he promised that there would be no words, no unnecessary sounds, anything not needed, one escaped him.

"Spock…" It was almost a low moan working its way up from somewhere inside him, expression the connection, the need. "…Spock."

Vulcan arms tightened at last around him, and he closed his eyes and sank into the fire.

There was a sear of energy along his length as their bodies connected. And where to touch along a surface as supple as the finest Orion nightleather. Kirk longed to ask, _may I,_ and to hear the low response that would allow his hands leave to roam Spock's body. But by his very presence, Spock was implying permission. Kirk reached out to pull the Vulcan closer. The fusion of their bodies brought another sigh to his throat. The form against him had a heat that ran up along his thigh, his hip, his ribs. Now was the time, he supposed, for all those words he'd been saving.

They were lying breast to breast, and he had to move his head back to look. There was still a sparkle of fear in those eyes, but it was quickly being obliterated by a smoldering glow that Kirk recognized as passion. He swept across the warm body, encompassing chest, ribs, and thigh. A delicious friction rose under his hand and he repeated the gesture, savoring the heat. He turned and whispered into the ear only millimeters from his lips.

"Kiss me, Spock."

He leaned up, his lips finding Spock's, really tasting the Vulcan for the first time, feeling the pressure, the tiny tremors.

A sigh was not a word, a sigh was a sound echoing from his soul. He released it, bringing his hands to curve around Spock's neck, his thumbs resting along the firm jawbone.

Spock's hands came up along his waist, the muscles in Kirk's back, resting along the curve of his arms. Fire danced where the hands had been.

Kirk moved into the kiss, one arm circled around Spock's neck. He held him there in the crook of his elbow and rolled back, pulling Spock with him, on top of him. Felt the intensity of Spock's weight and slipped his other hand down to the heaviness between the Vulcan's legs. It was like touching the heart of Vulcan, hotter than the sands of Gol, and smooth, so indescribably smooth. He swept his hands up along its length and back down. Again. Creating that friction, increasing that heat.

Kirk's hands were on him with a gentleness that made his heart ache in a way he could not explain. His Captain was an assertive man, and it was only logical to assume that he would be that way in bed as well. It was untrue. For him, Kirk had tempered his aggression, had transformed it into passion. Though Spock knew the definition of the word, he had never understood it. Never seen it embodied. Until now.

It was at this point that part of his brain sat up and calmly asked if this action, this road he had taken, contained any logical reasoning behind it whatsoever. The other half of his brain was enmeshed in a golden cloud and refused to answer. Or rather, by its non-response, gave the answer: _there is no logic, there is no reasoning, nor any need for them. Only the fold of these smooth arms, and silken, human lips that are intent on tasting all that could be consumed._

Kirk's hands were between his thighs, touching him in a way not he, nor any other, ever had. His legs were intertwined with the smooth ones of the human, and he felt the cool flesh draw away some of the heat that was beginning to build to almost uncomfortable levels. And those eyes, hazel and green fire beneath the unruly shock of blonde, almost sleepy beneath the half-lowered lids. Kirk was entranced and entrancing, languorously drawing him closer. And his lips, delicate as new silk, plush and coming closer to his own. The part of his brain that had sat up earlier pushed back into its seat and commented that no wonder half the females in the galaxy wanted Kirk. Spock ignored this, tasting the salt of human flesh, almost seeing the gilded pinkness meeting and combining with his own lean paleness.

Kirk felt Spock unbend against him, relax and press closer as if willing their separateness to dissipate. 

He released Spock's mouth, at once longing for the taste of him again. Released his hold on Spock's neck and pushed him back against the pillow, then brushed his lips on the secret flesh behind the curved ear, inhaling the unique scent he'd come to associate with Spock. He let his mouth linger on the last expanse of skin before it disappeared under the fringe of dark, crisp hair. As he pulled back, the side of his cheek brushed against Spock's. For a brief second, he was aware of his surroundings, the reflected glow of the plastic chair in the low light, the tumble of blankets beneath his knees as he knelt. He touched Spock's face and the Vulcan's eyes snapped open.

To give to Spock at this moment was all he could think of. Later he could analyze the whirl of thoughts in his head, but now all he could do was move his hand in small, slow circles on that furred chest. His throat ached to say what he wanted, his mouth, in fact, even opened to form the words. Instead, he bent his head, bent low, spread his hands and kissed the flesh above the hard bone of Spock's chest with his open mouth. The body flinched, and Kirk allowed one hand up to curve around Spock's jaw. He continued his soft trail of lips against flesh and his hand slipped away to trace the cords along the Vulcan's neck and down to cover the surface of his chest. 

He closed his eyes and could more distinctly feel the waves of heat radiating from that body. Down lower he went, terracing his tongue one across the surface of stomach, his hands following to retouch the places where his mouth had briefly alighted. The form beneath him was ridged, almost trembling. The left side of his face brushed something so hot he thought he'd burned himself. He allowed his eyes to open the slightest bit to confirm hiss suspicions.

Both hands came down to cup Spock's hips. He kept his mouth close to the tender pale flesh of Spock's groin, and, allowing himself only the very smallest of smiles, brought one hand down to deftly encircle the base of the Vulcan's cock. Instantly Spock sat upright, shock jerking through his body. Kirk pushed him back down, stroking the chest until it stopped shaking. 

He moved up, still holding the semi-hard flesh, and lay along the length of Spock. He kissed Spock twice, the lightest solar winds whispering across his lips, and eased his arm beneath Spock's shoulders. Clasped him tight against his chest and began stroking, firmly stroking, lightly easing off, and repeated the gesture. Varied it with a pause at the quickly hardening base while he rested his head in the hollow of Spock's shoulder. The Vulcan cock became quite hard beneath his hand, and Spock's breath was ragged across the curve of Kirk's forehead.

Then he began to pull away, lifting his hand and pushing himself to a sitting position. Spock's eyes caught his with great dark depths of puzzlement and Kirk's heart ached at the thought that Spock didn't trust him. He pried the strong hands from his arms and pushed Spock back down on the pillows again. Kissed him firmly on the lips. And said, "You'll like this."

Spock seemed to nod, his eyes closing, the ace relaxing the slightest bit.

Kirk gathered with his hands the hardness that rose from between Spock's legs. And, closing his eyes to the dark, green pulse, lowered his mouth to take Spock in.

The Vulcan felt a low note of pleasure escape him as Kirk began to stroke the growing hardness of his sex over and over. There was, at his point, no escape from the tangle, disjointed and totally illogical, of arms and lips and hair. No immediate rescue apparent from the mixture of warmth and cool. No escape from the forge of passion that Kirk had ignited and was now expertly stoking. No way out. But as Kirk's encircling mouth lowered itself on his hardness, he wondered why he'd ever bothered looking.

A sound rose from the Vulcan, a deep and satisfying thing tinged with surprise. At the edges of his mind he heard a creak and a snap, and he felt the frame of the door splintering away.

Pleasure moved Kirk's mouth, moved his throat and he tasted the tang, the salt, and felt on his tongue the beat of a Vulcan heart.

He did to Spock what he himself enjoyed, and Kirk was a natural, caressing the now slick skin with a skill a courtesan would envy. And sucked insistently until Spock's sex was harder than forged iron.

_Now,_ thought Kirk, taking Spock way back in his throat. _Now._

When the Vulcan came, Spock's back arched and Kirk's hands almost slipped. He gripped Spock's hips with the curve of knuckles. And in the white-hot second before Spock released, he felt himself almost responding. He willed himself not to, and succeeding, swallowed the force of Spock, the stream of heat. Swallowed and gripped, suspended in the moment, the frenzy, of the other's sexual release.

And from Spock there came only a single sound, deeper now than a sigh. More like a moan. And then silence as Kirk deftly tongued the crown of his head, swallowing the final traces of copper-tined liquid. He released the still-hard organ from his mouth, and still bent over, still on his knees, allowed his head to rest on the hollow next to Spock's hipbone. His heart was pounding in this chest, breath catching unevenly in his throat.

And he could not move. If he did, he would explode, and his seed all over Spock's thighs was not something he wanted his friend to remember most about this night.

Finally, when his breath began to slow and the shaking of Spock's body had stilled to sporadic quivers, he felt the weight of Spock's hand along the back of his neck. Not quite so hot now, merely very warm and familiar as it traced the bones of his spine.

He heard Spock whisper something low in his throat. The Vulcan hand moved lower and slipped into the curve of his arm, gave one tug, reset itself, and began to steadily pull Kirk towards the head of the bed. Kirk clamped his jaw as his over-hard sex tipped against the sharp angles of Spock's hip. He would have to take care of himself later.

Spock released his upper arm and took Kirk's head in his hands much as Kirk had done to him. He felt the tender curve of Spock's lips across his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. Then Spock swept an around his waist, and it was almost tight enough to snap ribs. But it was to Spock's credit, his keen awareness of what each muscle was doing, that it was that tight and no tighter. And as an again hot hand pushed his chin up and as he was taken in a kiss, Kirk realized what a good student the Vulcan was. A fast learner. Excellent memory. He repeated each of Kirk's movements, gesture for gesture, omitting only the sighs of pleasure. And on his face a look of sublime peace as if a pinnacle had been reached and successfully surmounted.

It seemed that when he'd made love to women in the past, half of his enjoyment was in seeing their intense, sexual need being met by his efforts. Their pleasure had been his, and now it seemed that his was Spock's. And damnit if he wasn't floating.

The Vulcan began to move his arms away, to move his lips down Kirk's front, and Kirk experienced an ecstatic sense of panic. Spock wasn't going to, was he? And he did, hands curved around Kirk's hips, gathering in his mouth the dark-pink hardness of Kirk's sex. It was all Kirk could do to keep from screaming. The mouth took him in, in a lush, wet hotness. And the strength of Spock's sucking that seemed to pull through his spine all the nerve endings in his body. The throat opened and took him all in and he sensed the dip of that dark head and remembered what he'd thought at that moment. He came in a drowning orgasm, so intense that actually passing out became a possibility.

Spock's hands never left him and when he was spent, moved their way upwards to cradle him against that furry chest. He was still shuddering, breathing hard and Spock's hand came up and traced the fine, neural points on his face and created a ricochet of pleasure in his mind that reflected his and Spock's combined pleasure and filled all the crevices of his soul.

_Mind-meld,_ he thought distantly. _He's using mind-meld to increase pleasure_. He wondered what the Vulcan High Counsel would say if they know about that.

Spock's arms pulled him close and there he relaxed, his ear pressed to the Vulcan chest, hearing the rhythmic boom of that heart, feeling the very slight sweat on the pale green flesh. 

***

Spock had always thought previously that when one was thirsty and drank water, one was no longer thirsty. Now, to his discovery, he found that this was untrue as it applied to desire. He found himself wanting more. Wanting Kirk again. The previous night was intended to be a singular event, one night of abandon to carry him through the rest of his days on the Enterprise. And he had promised Kirk that he would stay, and to a Vulcan, a promise was a serious event. 

He waited, his head tipped towards the sleeping Kirk. He did not really need to look at the form beside him; the features his hands had held last night were a permanent part of his memory. Neither did he touch the figure, knowing that to do so would undoubtedly wake the human. He allowed himself the light brush of one fingertip along the length of a single lock of bright hair. And waited, knowing that to Kirk, last night's activities had merely been the lesser of two evils, the only way out of a Kobyashi Maru that Spock had created. He couldn't imagine Kirk thinking anything else. Would not allow himself to calculate the possibilities of Kirk even considering any further physical relationship between them.

Kirk awoke to the sweet sounds of some unknown classical composer over the sound system where it was still being piped in. The room was not overly warm, but he felt as if he were being bathed by waves of sultry, Mediterranean air. He had only to register the form on his left to know the source. Spock was sitting up in bed, propped up against some pillows, his body slightly turned towards Kirk. The sheets lay in a smooth curve over his outstretched legs. It was rather like being on the beach of an island bay, with the heat radiating over him like waves against sand.

But Spock did not move nor speak. He seemed frozen where he was.

Last night had been…it had been marvelous. And it wasn't just the sex, though that had been pretty good too. No, more it was the sublime sense of weightlessness, of warmth and well-being that surrounded him and enfolded him as he lay there. And beside him was Spock.

_I never knew,_ he whispered in his mind. _I never knew._

That out of everything and everyone Spock had held out his hand to him, James T. Kirk. Held out his hand and pulled him in, closer to that essence that no one else in the universe had ever seen.

_I have seen,_ he thought. The flush of Spock's skin along the length of his thighs, the pounding of his heart, and the tightness of his throat as he tossed his head back with passion.

_I did not know I could no longer live without him._

Which of course was too much to present to the Vulcan. And he resigned himself to making sure the Vulcan remained on the Enterprise so that he would have time to convince Spock that this was no one night stand.

He opened his eyes and smiled. _No time like the present,_ he thought.

"Well, Spock?"

"I do not believe I understand the question, Jim."

"What comes next on this list of yours." It was worth a try.

There was a second's hesitation in Spock's breathing pattern. Then surprisingly, he felt a soft weight on the top of his head. 

"Next on the list, if I understand it correctly, is a continuation of last night's activities, utilizing what you humans would call variations on a theme."

"But there are so many variables." Kirk grinned rakishly.

"Two-hundred and seven thousand, nine-hundred and twenty-six variations, if one disincludes those activities that include more than two participants.

Trust Spock to know.

"But Spock, that would take years, no, wait," he held up his hands to stay the Vulcan's calculations. 

"An indeterminable amount of years," Spock agreed. "I believe I will have to remain on the Enterprise at least the rest of my Star Fleet career."

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fanfiction I had ever written, except that’s not strictly true. let’s just say this is the first fanfiction I wrote that got published by Robin Hood in her excellent First Time series in December 1992. I was a little nervous about finally writing something I had heretofore only read. My POVs are all over the place, switching every other paragraph, practically, my use of adverbs is embarrassing, and at the time, I still didn’t understand the difference between “that” and “which.” But except for correcting the “that’s” and the “which’s,” (and a few comma errors here and there) I left the story pretty much as is.
> 
> In Jr. High I had written a Mary-Sueish story where my best friend Janet and I won a contest to go aboard the Enterprise for the weekend. The character-that-was-me had a crush on Checkov (so I wrote in a ”cute meet”), and the character-that-was-Janet had a crush on Scotty (so I wrote in another “cute meet”), and basically the story goes on and on about nothing. Still it’s sweetly innocent; if I ever find it, I might post it. What’s interesting about this story is the diagram I drew for the huge banquet that was given in our honor. I put my character next to Chekov, I put Janet’s character next to Scotty, and I put Kirk and Spock RIGHT by each other at the far end of the table. As if any conversation going on at that point certainly didn’t need to involve them because they had each other. Guess I’d figured out their relationship even way back when.
> 
> The other first story I wrote was with some friends right around the same time. It was called Castaways of Andretta, and involved Kirk and Spock crash landing on some planet while testing a new shuttle design. (As if the Captain of a Starship would be doing his own shuttle testing!) What ensued was pages and pages of survival stuff, a little romance, and lots of angst. I sent the story to one editor, and she lost it twice. I sent the story to Robin, and she was very kind about the parts I had written (which made me feel more comfortable about writing), but said there was too much survival and not enough romance, and told me to try again. Which I did, with One Night’s Compromise.
> 
> The funniest part about Castaways was the trap that Spock built (a humane one, of course) so that they could get something else to eat besides grubs and mushrooms. Kirk is loosing his mind over not having any meat to eat, so of course Spock cannot resist giving Kirk what he needs. The trap consists of sounds from Klingon jazz, which, while it won’t kill you when you listen to it, will, apparently stun you pretty bad. Don’t know which of us wrote that bit, but it always cracked me up, as did the comment about running jokes that Kirk makes. To which Spock asks, in his confusion, how on earth something without form can move about like that?
> 
> ***
> 
> Hey there, thanks for reading my fan fiction! Because I love writing so much, I've turned my attention to writing m/m historical romances. My goal is to make a living by my writing, so if you'd like to give my books a try, you can [ click the link to visit my website](http://www.christinaepilz.com/) and find out more.


End file.
